It has been many months now since I had my man, Hercule Poirot in my bedroom all tidy in his boxed set. For a long time, a movie or show on TV was rare. I was reading a lot and when that was not enough, listening to my audio books. I slept better than I had in years and lately, with the change in my medications, even better. A full nights sleep? It happened. I know. What was up with that. But since mid summer, everything was changing. I was kind of glad when my little boys went back to school so I wouldn't have to pretend I was brave and could sleep without TV and sleep without a light on in my room.
In the past month, it has gotten so much worse. I use the timer on the TV. I know I sleep better without the extra light on, but each and every time it clicks off and the room gets dark, I wake and it has to go back on. I thought it was just the sound of voices and did try books, but the same with audio books. As soon as the screen went dark, I woke.
I am exhausted during the day and struggle to find the will to knit, even though it is what I most want to do. But all i seem to be able to do is sleep. It's light then and I don't need to worry about the dark apparently so it is a good sleep but I feel like an infant with their days and night all switched around.
I have written about it before, that when Brian got sick, I found comfort in the undemanding mysteries of Agatha Christie and how the series of Miss Marple and Mr. Poirot became very dear friends in an odd sort of way. They helped me sleep. They helped me not to think. I am asking the same of them now. I need to not think. I need to pop on on and go to sleep comforted in the knowledge that they are there if I need them again. I have a wee night light filched from the kids room to take care of the dark problem.
I am going to need this for a while. My struggles are connected to my mom and dad. They have always been strong and generally healthy and other than the occasional big thing have not needed support or help from their kids. But they are aging rapidly and my dad is getting very frail. My dad, in particular has last the ability to swallow easily. Everyone says he is so thin and frail and they all worry that his time with us is not long. \He is very anxious and I think he is feeling very alone and scared. I don't want him to feel that way but I worry too. That is yet another piece of my framework that I may be losing soon and sweet heavens, as much as he fears going, I fear him leaving me to. I am not ready for it.
So I am bringing out the big guns to help restore a bit of something, be it the resolutions that Ms Christie always provides, or some other mystery. Poirot carried me through it before. Maybe he will again.
I will knit tomorrow. I will start a sleeve on the green sweater. I will get that one thing done. And I will have Jane and Hercule for company.
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